Regressing
by robbiepoo2341
Summary: It was supposed to be just a normal takedown of a normal bank robber on a normal afternoon, but Hawkeye and Black Widow wound up buried under a ton of rubble and inhaling some serious dust and debris and, well, something...else. That something has already turned Nat into a small child, and Hawkeye's shrinking too, but when the rest of the team shows up, will they get infected next?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Soooooo I wrote a thing. I started this last night and I'm already five chapters in and I really have no plan I just started with an idea of Kidvengers and a plan of how to shrink them into tiny kiddies of cuteness and already I'm regretting my life choices cuz this has consumed my entire night last night plus this whole day so here. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or any of the related rights.**

_This is magic and monsters and nothing we were ever trained for._

"Nat, you were right. You were right, and I was wrong, and we should have called in Thor," Clint said, clutching Natasha close to him.

She said something in Russian, and while Clint knew a few words (enough to know when she was sweet-talking him and when she was swearing, and also enough to order food and beer), he didn't quite get the gist of that sentence.

"English, Nat. Do you not know English yet?" Clint wouldn't be surprised. She was tiny and uncomfortably adorable and full of words that sounded like fiery insults, but Clint could never be sure. He didn't quite know what a three-year-old's vocabulary would be, but knowing Nat, she'd already learned the swears that would make sailors blush at that age. She said she'd started young.

He muttered his best approximation of "It's going to be okay," over and over again in her ear in his best Russian, and that seemed to calm her down.

He didn't know it was going to be okay, of course. That was a lie. But it was the one lie they'd agreed to let each other slide on. Other lies were open to ridicule and revelation (except lies about the past, but they'd both learned long ago that those weren't lies as much as they were survival mechanisms, so they were exempt from the lying rules as well).

"Stark," he said through gritted teeth as he curled his body protectively around the tiny child that used to be Black Widow and was now just a toddler wrapped up in Clint's best attempt-at-swaddling using the old Black Widow suit. He could feel the building coming down around them, and he tried not to breathe in the dust. He was coughing pretty violently already, heavy, bloody coughs, and he was pretty sure that would freak out the already-freaked-out kid in his clutches—plus he was pretty sure there was something in the dust, because the more he breathed it in, the more he felt like he was constricting, shrinking, almost like panicking but a lot more physical.

Natasha'd been hit by the first wave of dust. He'd just been lucky, really. He worked better from a distance, so when the building came down, he'd been on the neighboring roof. But when she'd doubled over and coughed up half a lung and at least a pint's worth of blood, he'd felt every second it took him to get down there.

"Fast as we can, Barton," Stark said. He sounded panicked, too. "Civilians first."

"There were people in the building?" Clint frowned. That shouldn't have been possible. They'd scouted the place, and it was empty.

"Reporters showed up as soon as the building came down. We got 'em clear and pumped some oxygen in them, but Barton—they inhaled something . . . ." Stark trailed off, and that's how Clint knew it was bad. Stark had words for everything.

Well, at least they hadn't brought a building down on civilians. That would've been bad.

"Stark," Clint said. He was trying hard not to breathe, but this part was important, "don't let anyone else in here. Not Cap or Banner or even Thor."

"You embarrassed you need the help?" Stark asked lightly, but it wasn't full of the usual sting.

"Your armor filters the air," Clint said. He took a deep breath—he couldn't hold it any longer and talk at the same time—then immediately burst into a fresh round of coughing.

Little Nat, who had curled her arms around his neck and hidden in his chest when the walls started to shake, looked up at him in alarm and asked him if he was dying. He recognized that phrase, at least. Nat asked him that whenever he was hurt in the field.

He decided not to give her his usual "You only wish I'd go down that easy" (which, by the way, had taken a long time to learn) and fell back on the "it's okay" lie.

After his coughing fit, he felt the familiar push of constriction. He noticed Nat was coughing again, too, so he wrapped his arms even tighter around her and held her until the coughing fit was over and didn't much care that his whole front was now covered in blood.

"Barton?"

Clint didn't reply. He needed to hold his breath. Whatever this stuff was, it was deadly, and it was very probably magic, given what it had done to Natasha, who seemed now to be a little closer to two than to three years old.

He tried to ignore the fact that his own uniform felt a little big, too.

He instead used his air to whisper his "it's okay" lie over and over and to kiss Natasha's forehead and to close his eyes and hold her close and wait for the team to dig them out.

It was a long two-minute wait before he felt rather than saw the debris shifting nearby. "Watch it, Stark," he gasped into his comm link as the movement kicked up more dust and he hurriedly stuffed his shirt sleeve over Natasha's face in the best approximation of a filter he could get.

His quiver was thirty feet away from him, but he couldn't reach it, not with his legs pinned down. The building had come down on him almost as soon as he'd reached Natasha, and he hadn't had time to do anything but pull her out of harm's way. But if he could've reached it, there'd be a breathing mask, a special new toy for underwater exploration, and it could've helped Natasha, who seemed only to be getting younger.

The sunlight blinded Clint temporarily, and little Nat buried her face in Clint's chest.

"Are you two okay?" Stark asked, pulling the rubble aside. "Is anyone else in here?"

It was Stark's civilian voice. His "it's okay; I'm a hero" voice that he used on people he rescued, and Clint would've told him off if he hadn't looked down at his uniform and realized it was so covered in dust and blood that there was no way Stark would recognize it. And with Nat in her current state, there was no telling what Clint looked like . . . .

Clint pointed at Natasha. "Get her out of here before she gets any worse," he said. He tried not to cough through that sentence, but it was hard.

Stark reached out for little Nat, but she just nestled in deeper into Clint's shirt and held on tighter. She shouted a few words in Russian, but they were much simpler. Things like "no" and "scared" and words that didn't together make a full sentence.

He was going to lose her. His Natasha. Right here in this pile of rubble because they thought they were just stopping a common bank robber. "Stark. My quiver," he gasped out. It was harder to stop the coughing now, but if he could just hold out for a little longer. . . .

Stark tilted his head. Clint couldn't see the guy's expressions behind the faceplate, but he could tell from the way his whole body stiffened, even through the armor, that Stark had figured out what happened. Who they were.

Stark blasted his way through the rubble, which kicked up more of the dust and sent both Clint and Natasha into another round of coughing fits, but Clint felt the quiver drop into his outstretched hand as the fit subsided.

He went right for the outside pocket and pulled out the breathing device, holding it in front of Nat and whispering the "it's okay" lie five hundred times over again, even if it meant he had to keep taking a breath in the dust and rubble and coughing and blood, because she was tinier than ever, and he wasn't sure she could understand him, but maybe if he sounded comforting enough. . . .

And then Clint could feel his legs again as Stark lifted the wall off of them, and with that feeling came a roaring pain that he would have shouted at if he hadn't been holding a toddler. He felt metal hands scoop him up and concentrated on just holding onto Nat and not losing consciousness. He knew Stark was saying something, probably asking questions, but he couldn't concentrate on anything but holding Nat and staying awake.

He coughed.

_Stay awake. Hold Nat._

Coughed again.

_Stay awake._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: My new favorite thing is baby Natasha. That is all.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or any of the related rights.**

Clint woke up because someone had kicked him in the stomach.

He started to tell Barney that, for the last time, this was _not _his bed and he couldn't climb in the covers every time it was cold because Barney slept like a maniac and threw punches just as often as he snored—but it wasn't Barney.

The kid was maybe two. Maybe. All red curls and chubby cheeks, and she was wearing what looked like an oversized purple tee shirt with a bird symbol on it. And she was sleeping soundly curled up in Clint's side.

He looked around and realized he didn't know where he was, which was rather unsettling, but he had a kid to keep track of, so he tried to sit up carefully and quietly.

This room was much nicer than any room he'd ever had, though it definitely looked like he could have lived there. Pizza boxes everywhere, video games stacked in the corner and half fallen over, and a dartboard in the corner. Some bandages and a makeshift aid station and a whole lot of archery stuff, too.

Clint pulled himself carefully out of the bed and covered the little girl in the blankets. He was wearing something similarly purple and bird-y, though it was a few sizes too big, and Clint looked for the closet in this place, thinking maybe he'd find a belt.

He passed a mirror and was surprised to see that he hardly had a scratch on him. He felt sore, like he'd just been compressed or stepped on or something, and everything hurt like it was brand new and not used to being used, but he looked fine. Well, you know, a little acne across his forehead, but that was about it.

He found a belt hiding in a whole lot of discarded arrows that looked probably too dangerous to be discarded and hitched up the pants. It didn't look like there was much else to wear around this place. He tried the door and the windows, but those were locked down pretty good, and he was trying not to wake up the sleeping kid, so he settled for a game of darts.

He heard someone at the door and gathered up three of the darts he hadn't thrown yet—they were at least pointy enough to do some damage—and made a break for the bed. He didn't know where he was or who was keeping him there, but there was a kid in play, and she didn't deserve to get kidnaped.

A tall, blond guy who dressed sorta like the American flag walked in, and Clint went right for the eyes. Guy had good reflexes, though, and he brought up a huge shield to deflect the dart. Clint aimed between the knees and then immediately for the eyes again, but the guy was fast. Unnaturally fast.

Clint looked around the room for something else he could use as a weapon and grabbed one of the bows propped up in the corner (those bows seemed to be the only thing in this place that hadn't been thrown around haphazardly). He held the bow out like a bo staff, ready to go down swinging. "Who are you?" he demanded. "How'd you get me here?"

The blond guy sighed heavily but kept his shield up. "Hey, Clint. I'm Steve. Steve Rogers."

"Nice to meet you," Clint said, keeping the bow out in front of him. It was heavier than he'd expected, so he wasn't quite sure he could draw it, but anything that would make a good blunt instrument was preferable to nothing. He tried not to think about what it meant that the guy already knew his name.

"Clint," Steve Rogers said carefully.

"Stay back," Clint said, trying to sound more dangerous than he felt, but the effect was kind of ruined when his voice squeaked. (He was definitely glad Barney wasn't around to hear _that_. Barney seemed to think Clint-going-through-puberty was pretty much the funniest joke anyone'd ever told.)

"Look, we're trying to figure out what happened to you. If you can remember anything—"

Ah, okay. Figures. Steve Rogers looked like some kind of uniform. Something must have happened last night when he and Barney went out to hit the mall and grab some new shoes (Clint was fast outgrowing his, though he was still shy of five feet tall, Barney was always reminding him), and uniforms got involved.

"Look, I was just hanging out with my brother," Clint said. This was easy—the lying part. "We thought maybe we'd catch a movie, and then next thing I know—wham!—I'm in a room with some kid and a guy with a weird patriotism fetish."

Steve Rogers flushed a weird color, but only for a second. "And that's it? You don't remember being in a building that collapsed three hours ago?"

Clint raised both eyebrows. "I think I'd remember something like that." He would have said more, too, but the little redheaded girl woke up, looked around, and immediately started crying.

Clint and Steve Rogers looked at each other, and Clint figured it was probably his job to do something about the crying girl. Figures. He crossed the room in a couple strides, sat down next to her, and swooped her up into his arms. "You're okay," he said, bouncing her on his knee. "We'll figure out where you belong and get you home in no time."

Steve Rogers didn't look so sure about that.

The redheaded girl babbled something in a language that didn't sound like English, but she reached her chubby fingers up to Clint's hair and started to play with his face anyway, pulling at his ears and his cheeks and giggling contentedly.

_How _had he gotten himself into this mess?

Clint shifted the redhead into his other arm and away from his face so that she instead grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and tugged on that instead. "So, if a building went down, what am I doing in this place?"

"Well, we couldn't break into Natasha's room, and Tony's scared of what might happen if she gets back to normal and we've broken the door down, so we figured we'd just put you two back in your room—"

"My room?" Clint narrowed his eyes. "I don't live here. You've got the wrong guy."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Steve Rogers looked Clint over. "Hope you don't mind we showered you off and got you into some new clothes. Bruce volunteered to help—said it would probably be a little less embarrassing for everyone involved."

Clint felt his entire face flush.

"We had to get that dust off of you. The more you inhaled, the worse you got," Steve Rogers said. He almost sounded apologetic.

The redhead gurgled at him and reached up for his hair. Clint pulled his head carefully out of harm's way and stood up, starting to hand her over to Steve Rogers. "Well, we're all cleaned up and better now, and I've pretty much told you all I know, so I appreciate the help, but my brother's waiting for me—"

"Clint." Steve Rogers put his hand on Clint's arm, stopping him in his tracks with strength that normal guys just didn't have.

Clint pulled out of the guy's grasp. He wilted for just a moment of defeat, then handed the bundle of energy over to Steve Rogers. And while she reached right up for his hair to play with, Clint dove for the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I love this story. A lot. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or Marvel or any of the related rights. **

Clint crept around the huge tower. Place was a fortress, but Clint was good at not being seen.

He smelled food and headed for the kitchen, because it was always good to grab a bite while he could, but he heard voices and climbed into the nearest vent.

It was dusty, and he resisted the urge to cough.

A guy with dark hair and a weird-looking goatee walked underneath Clint alongside a curly-haired guy who looked kind of like he was trying to seem smaller than he actually was.

" . . . looking into Asgardian fixes," the goatee guy was saying.

"And the dust from their clothes?" the curly-haired guy asked.

"Weirdest thing," the goatee guy said. "We hosed them both down, and the dust came right off their skin, but when we pulled their clothes out of the laundry, stuff was still clinging to it." He waved his hand like he was annoyed, then sneezed.

"Gesundheit," the curly-haired guy said, but he looked concerned.

"Got on my armor, too," the goatee guy said. "I sprayed myself off as much as I could, but . . . ." He coughed into his hand, and Clint saw a gleam of red before the goatee guy hid it.

"Little less gray behind the ears," the curly-haired guy pointed out.

"Hey," the goatee guy said, pointing his finger right in his friend's face, "I was never gray. Let's get that straight."

"Sure."

The goatee guy sighed and opened the fridge, pulling out a slice of cold pizza. "Thing I don't get is why anyone would want to de-age them," he said through his first bite. "Far as I can tell, Barton's just as annoying when he's a teenager as he is grown up."

Clint's eyebrows were practically scraping his hairline.

"At least Natasha's nicer," said Steve Rogers' voice as he came into the room. He had the little redheaded toddler balanced in one hand and placed his shield on the counter—and out of reach of the maniacal little girl—with the other. It looked like she was playing with half of an arrow—the non-pointy end—and she kept hitting Steve Rogers in the head with it.

"Where's Barton?" the goatee guy asked.

Steve Rogers looked actually sheepish. "He, uh, sort of threw Natasha at me and bailed."

"Great. Last thing we need is a teenage assassin running loose in our place," the goatee guy said. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?"

Clint very nearly gave his position away with the start of surprise at hearing a British voice echoing through the tower.

"Think you could find Clint for us?"

"My sensors indicate that he is in the kitchen with you," the disembodied voice, apparently JARVIS, said.

Clint swore under his breath and pushed himself slowly backwards, away from the vent opening, using mostly his elbows. It was a slow way to move, but very quiet, and it sounded like they were checking cabinets first.

That was the one advantage of being skinny. Clint could fit places other people couldn't.

He'd pushed himself around a corner before someone opened the vent grate and shouted into it, "Clint? Are you in there?"

Yeah, right. Like he'd really answer to that.

"Barton, you moron!" That was the goatee guy. "Get out of there right now."

"I don't see him," said Steve Rogers.

"JARVIS, you're sure he's in here?"

"Yes, sir."

The goatee guy swore a lot, but then, it was quiet again.

Clint waited. Steve Rogers probably couldn't fit his massive frame in the vents, but the goatee guy and the curly-haired guy probably could. He pulled himself along until he found a new vent cover, this one over the kitchen table, so that he could drop down out of it at the first sign of trouble and sprint for the doors.

He heard something clattering and figured it was probably the vent cover he'd gone through coming unscrewed, so he set to work loosening the cover underneath him, ready to drop down.

And he would've dropped, too, if he hadn't been so surprised by what he saw next.

It was a red hand. Robotic thing just crawling along like a freakish spider. It stopped like it was looking at him, then dove for Clint's ankle.

Lucky thing Clint had always had fast reflexes. He pulled his foot out of the way and dove through the vent, crashing down into the table. He rolled with the fall so that he was on his feet before the others had recovered from the surprise, then sprinted for the door.

And then, very suddenly, he felt something slam into the back of his head, and everything went cold and black.

When he woke up again, he was back in the purple archer room, but this time, all the bows and arrows and even darts were gone. Place looked actually clean. Not even a pizza box to throw at anyone!

Clint sighed and pushed himself up on his elbows, ignoring the throbbing in his head.

"Sorry about that." It was Steve Rogers, waiting patiently at the foot of Clint's bed. He was looking down at his lap, where a new pair of jeans and a purple tee shirt were neatly folded across his legs. "But we're not sure what's happened to you . . . or whether or not it's contagious." At that last bit, Steve Rogers coughed quietly into his elbow.

Clint sat up straighter and folded his arms across his chest. "So, what _did _happen to me, then?" he asked.

Steve Rogers gave him something that was probably meant to be an innocently curious look but failed horribly.

"Like you don't know I was listening to you guys the whole time. Something about being de-aged?"

Steve Rogers sighed. He threw the jeans and tee shirt at Clint. "Got you some new clothes. I thought those might fit you better."

"You get some for what's-her-name-Natasha too?" Clint asked.

"Tony's trying to wrestle her into them now," Steve Rogers said with a soft smile.

"Which one's Tony? Goatee guy?"

Steve Rogers laughed. "Yeah. That's Tony."

Clint nodded. "And the other one?"

"Bruce Banner."

"Got it." Clint crossed his arms over his chest. He logged the information away and tried to compartmentalize it, tried to keep asking questions so he had cover to look for a weapon. He wasn't some helpless kid anymore. "So, how much time am I missing?"

Something passed over Steve Rogers' face, something like pain or guilt or, well, Clint really couldn't call it empathy, since Steve Rogers couldn't possibly know what it was like to wake up in a world that had skipped to the future without him. But softly, quietly, Steve Rogers said, "Around thirty years."

"Not sure I believe you," Clint said, to cover up for his surprise.

"You don't have to," Steve Rogers said. "But it would be nice if you'd stop fighting us and stay put for a while so we can figure out how to get you back to normal. Stark and Banner are working on analyzing the dust you and Natasha breathed in. Thor's looking into some possible magic remedies. We'll have you back to normal and fighting with the rest of us in no time."

Clint raised his eyebrows. "Huh," he said quietly.

"What?"

"Nothing," Clint said. But then, since Steve Rogers seemed trustworthy enough, he said, "Just didn't figure I'd end up with a group of guys who cared much what happened to me is all."

Steve Rogers looked sad for just a moment before, very suddenly, he started violently coughing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or anything related to the Marvel universe. **

Steve Rogers was really big and really heavy, but that didn't stop Clint from trying to drag him all the way to help by himself.

The guy was coughing up blood. That seriously couldn't be good, and maybe it was adrenaline, but he also seemed to get lighter as they went.

"Umm, British Butler Dude?" Clint shouted up at the ceiling.

"I'm called JARVIS." The computer actually sounded kinda prickly. Which was weird. Computers weren't supposed to have personalities, right? But then, future.

"Yeah. Right. Look. Steve is in trouble. Send help, please?" Clint wasn't sure why he was bothering. Just a few minutes ago, he'd have left the guy and dove out the nearest window to try and find Barney. But Steve Rogers seemed nice enough, and Clint wasn't sure what had happened to little Natasha, and he felt like maybe he should make sure she was okay. It seemed like she was in just as much trouble as he was.

He dragged Steve down a couple more hallways before, suddenly, the coughing fit stopped and the guy dropped to his knees. Clint knelt down beside him, glad to have the weight off his shoulders, but watching just in case something worse happened.

Steve Rogers opened his eyes and looked right at Clint. Studied his face. Then, he pulled back. "Who are you? What is this place?" Steve Rogers looked around the tower. "Where have you taken me?"

Clint held up his hands in a universal gesture of peace, since Steve Rogers maybe looked younger, but only by a couple of years, and he was still big enough to take Clint down. "Umm. Yeah. Hi. I'm Clint. This is . . . a tower. Of some sort. I think you live here. And you just sort of . . . collapsed?" Clint rubbed the bridge of his nose. This wasn't actually helpful.

"Where's Bucky?"

"Who?" Clint wrinkled his nose. "Dude, I only just figured out who you and the science geeks are. Don't go adding more names into the mix."

Steve Rogers pulled himself to his feet and looked around the tower some more. "Are we . . . are we back in America?" His fists clenched and unclenched. "Did something happen to my friends? Did the mission go wrong? Tell me what's going on." He said that last part with almost-fury, but held back, just behind his eyes. A whispered threat that was scarier than if he'd yelled.

Clint backed up and held up his hands. "Clearly, you have a lot of catching up to do," he said, then sighed. "And I am _definitely _not the person to ask for answers." He looked up at the ceiling, then grinned a sideways grin. "I know who you can ask, though. JARVIS?"

"Yes, Mister Barton?"

Steve Rogers pulled back like he'd been struck across the face. He looked up at the ceiling in something like awe and wonder, then coughed quietly into his elbow again. "How are you doing that?" he asked Clint.

"I dunno," Clint said, shrugging. "It's futuristic technology. You and me, we're behind a few years, I think. Something about being de-aged? I don't understand it. You were explaining it to me before you got affected by whatever it was, so . . . yeah." Clint shrugged again. "Sorry I'm not more help."

"'s okay," Steve Rogers muttered, but it looked more like a pout. His fists clenched and unclenched again, like he was dying to dive into action but didn't have anywhere to go. He looked up at the ceiling again. "So. You up there. Can you tell us what's happening?"

"As far as Doctor Banner has been able to tell, something seems to be affecting your genetic makeup. The toxin would appear to be airborne, as Captain Rogers was not at the original site of infection. Doctor Banner believes it might be related to the dust on Mister Barton and Miss Romanoff's clothes when they were pulled from the wreckage of their latest collapsing building."

Clint grinned recklessly. "Makes it sound like we pull buildings down all the time." Then, the second part of that sentence clicked in, and he said, "Wait. Miss Romanoff?"

"Yes. She is currently in the medical wing with Doctor Banner."

"Can you take me there?" Clint asked, thinking of the little redheaded girl curled up next to him when he first woke up in the strange tower. If she'd been an adult when this whole thing started, then she was de-aging way too fast, and Clint didn't want to know what happened when she reached pre-newborn levels of de-aging.

"I'll come with you," Steve Rogers said quickly. Clint thought it was probably more to give the guy something to do, something that made him feel useful, but he didn't argue.

He could come in handy.

JARVIS directed them through the wings of the tower, and they were only a few turns away from the medical wing when something heavy and metal landed just in front of them.

"Whoa," Steve Rogers said.

"You've got to be kidding me," Clint said.

It was a guy. Well, at least, it sort of looked like a guy. But made out of armor and with a glowing blue heart. And when he held out his hand, the hand glowed, too.

Steve Rogers stepped instinctively in front of Clint, and Clint would have objected if the guy didn't seem to be a trained soldier with a big shiny shield. "Who are you?" Steve Rogers asked. "What do you want?"

"What are you doing in my place?" the armor guy demanded, and his voice sounded sorta familiar, but it was hard to tell when it was all distorted behind that mask.

Clint made a face. "_Your _place?" he repeated. "And here I thought JARVIS ran the place. Isn't that right, JARVIS?"

"Sir, please stand down. Mister Barton and Captain Rogers are not threats. You invited them to live in this tower years ago—"

"I think I'd remember something like that," the armor guy said. But then something made him pause. It was hard to tell where he was looking with that shiny faceplate, but he seemed to be looking at the big shield Steve Rogers was holding.

"Where'd you get that?" the armor guy asked, this time more quietly.

"This?" Steve Rogers picked up his shield. "A friend of mine made it for me. Howard Stark."

The faceplate popped open.

"Goatee Guy! Tony, right?" Clint sighed in relief, but nobody seemed to be paying attention to him.

Steve Rogers looked closely at the face behind the armor. Tony looked closely at Steve.

"Umm," Clint said.

"There's _no _way," Tony muttered quietly.

Clint figured they probably both needed some time to figure out . . . whatever it was they were trying to figure out . . . so he slipped around behind Tony and quietly filed into the medical ward.

"Umm, Doctor Banner?" he called out, remembering the name JARVIS had given him.

"Clint!" The curly-headed guy—Bruce—popped up from behind a monitoring table. He had something set up in the corner, but Clint couldn't quite see what it was. "Are you okay?"

"At least someone around here still remembers who I am," Clint muttered. He noticed Bruce reach for an oxygen mask. "JARVIS told me I'd find my friend here?"

Bruce donned the oxygen mask and handed Clint one as well. When Clint eyed it suspiciously (he'd never liked hospitals or anything to do with being in one), Bruce explained, "I don't think it's safe to breathe around you or Natasha. I think the contagion that's de-aging you is airborne. I was just testing my theory with Natasha." He took off his glasses and rubbed them nervously on his shirt, then put them back on. "She seems to have stopped getting younger, at least."

Clint didn't like the look on Bruce's face. He pushed past Bruce toward what he now realized was a makeshift hospital crib.

She was tiny. Less than a year old, with wisps of red hair and chubby legs that kicked even when she was asleep, her thick little fingers reaching out in her dreams—probably for somebody's hair. She'd been fitted with a mask her size and was hooked up to all sorts of monitoring equipment, like the premature babies in hospitals.

"She's not getting younger?" Clint asked. He couldn't look away from her, and he wasn't sure if it was because he was terrified that he'd get that young, too, or if it was because she was the only other person to come out of whatever building they'd collapsed.

"Not in the past hour," Bruce said. "Which is a marked improvement, by the way." He rubbed at his glasses again. "You both inhaled a great deal of the contagion, but she was at the center of the collapse."

Clint sighed and slipped the oxygen mask over his face. "Is it . . . safe for her if I stay here?" he asked.

"I'd prefer it, actually," Bruce said, and his smile very nearly reached his eyes. One part relief and two parts something else. "She's fussy when she's awake and tries to take off the mask if I leave her alone for too long."

"Thanks," Clint said, glad for the excuse to stay there.

**A/N: Yeah, you didn't think I'd keep my babies separated for long, did you? I love me some tiny!Clint and tinier!Natasha interacting :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or any of the right related to anything Marvel.**

"Clint? Clint!"

Clint tried to pick himself up off the floor, but everything hurt. It felt like he'd just coughed up half his stomach, and that was definitely blood on the floor. He felt like he'd been squeezed too hard in too many places.

He thought about staying down and waiting until the nausea subsided, but then he felt someone's hands close around his shoulders, and he swung. Hard.

"Ow," said the someone belonging to those hands, but he didn't sound like he was too badly hurt. Shame.

Clint pushed himself to his feet and scrambled backwards, nearly tripping over an oxygen canister. He looked around and saw that everything looked white and pristine—everything but the blood on the floor—and figured he must have been in a hospital.

Great. Dad was going to _kill _him for racking up hospital bills. How'd he get here, anyway?

He pressed himself into the nearest corner, hiding behind medical supplies and cabinets and squeezing into places the big somebody else in the room couldn't get to.

"Clint. Come out, please. I need to take a look at you and make sure you're okay."

Clint curled up into a ball, tucking his exposed knees up into the purple shirt that was ten sizes too big for him and that fit him more like a nightgown than a shirt and waited. Maybe the somebody would give up and go away. Maybe he could slip out of the hospital before Dad came to get him. Pretend the whole thing never happened.

Yeah. And while he was dreaming, he'd like a treehouse.

"Clint, I'm not going to hurt you. You took off your mask to eat the sandwiches I brought in, and you must have inhaled more of the contagion," said the somebody else in the hospital. "I think every change might happen once you pass a certain threshold of the dust in your system. You didn't have your mask off for very long."

Clint didn't know what he was talking about, but it sounded like doctor nonsense.

"It must be deeper in your skin than we thought. We're not sure how to get it off of you. I thought we'd cleaned you off well enough, but now I'm thinking the only way to get rid of it is to wait for Thor to come back with a solution."

Clint heard a door open, and new voice, soft but also hard like a soldier's, joined in. "He giving you a hard time, Doc?"

"I can handle it. You're not supposed to be in here with them."

"I heard coughing. I wanted to make sure . . . ." The new guy trailed off. "Whose . . . ?"

"Clint's."

Was that a sigh of relief? Clint narrowed his eyes. Some way to treat a patient.

"At least let me help."

"Steve, you _are _helping. I still need you to keep Stark out of here, and I still need you monitoring his situation. The serum in your blood must be keeping you from de-aging as fast as the others, because from what I can tell, you should have gone back at least a decade, given how much time you spent carrying Natasha around and chasing after Clint."

"Yeah, well, five years is still a pretty chunk to lose," the new guy—Steve?—said sadly.

"So don't lose any more."

Steve paused, probably thinking about what the doctor guy had said, then laughed and called out, "Clint, where are you?"

Clint curled up tighter into his little ball. Advantage of being small.

"Behind the tables," the doctor said. Tattle tale.

Clint saw two gloved hands reached through the space between the medical tables, but they couldn't reach Clint, not when he was so well tucked away. But then the tables started to move apart, which shouldn't have been possible, because they were bolted down and that was why Clint had hidden there, but the next thing he knew, a guy in a red-white-and-blue uniform had scooped him up into his arms.

Clint did everything he could not to get taken, though. He bit and kicked and clawed and pulled hair, but Steve was really big and really strong, and the next thing Clint knew, he was dumped onto a hospital bed that was way too big for him.

"Don't make me ask Bruce to tie you down," Steve said, and it looked like he meant it.

Clint glared at Steve. At least he'd managed to give Steve a swollen lip, not that it mattered.

"Thanks," the doctor said.

"Anytime, Bruce. And next time? Just call me. I'm more than willing to risk a little infection if it keeps him from de-aging into nonexistence," Steve said, shrugging easily. He coughed quietly into his elbow, and the doctor (Bruce?) raised his eyebrows.

"'s Nothing," Steve said quickly, darting out of the hospital room.

Bruce sighed and turned to Clint, who was definitely thinking about making another run for it, but he was kinda waiting until after Steve was far enough away from the door that he might have a chance at making it.

But Bruce seemed to know what Clint was thinking, because he sighed almost patiently and said, "Listen, Clint, you can run away, but if we can't find you, you're only going to have another coughing fit." Bruce looked Clint over. "And I'm not sure how many more of those you've got left in you."

Clint looked over at the blood on Bruce's white floor and, to his annoyance, found that he had to agree with the doctor. "Fine," he muttered. "Now what?"

"Now, you put your oxygen mask back on, and we feed you intravenously from now on until we can figure out a better solution," Bruce said, handing Clint a new mask to wear.

Clint frowned at it. "I don't like it," he said, but then he coughed again.

"Put it on," Bruce said, and there was something powerful behind Bruce, just in his eyes. Powerful and green and big and it looked like he could hurt Clint.

"Make me," Clint said. Because he didn't like being pushed around, and it didn't matter that Bruce was bigger than him.

That something dangerous flashed in Bruce's eyes, but he looked over at something beside Clint's bed, and he calmed down.

Clint looked there, too.

It was a baby. She was wide awake and smiling behind her mask, with her chubby hands pressed up against the side of the glass. She pointed at Clint and smiled some more.

"What's her name?" Clint asked despite himself.

"Natasha," Bruce said. Now he was smiling. "She likes you."

"How come she's here?"

"She has the same problem you do, Clint. She's aging backwards. And if you don't put on this mask, you'll turn into a baby same as Natasha did," Bruce said quietly. He held out the mask again, but this time, it seemed more like a plea than a demand.

Clint narrowed his eyes at Bruce, then, finally, swiped the mask out of the doctor's hands. "Fine," he said. But he wasn't happy about it.

**A/N: Yes, at last we have Kid!Clint. I am ridiculously excited about this.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry sorry I've been super sick lately and haven't posted here for a long time.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or any related rights.**

He'd had to promise to be very, very careful. He promised not to drop her or to pull out any of the tubes feeding into her. But eventually, Bruce caved and wheeled Natasha's bed over to Clint and very carefully let Clint hold her.

"Hi there," Clint said.

She looked back up at him with big, green eyes.

"So, umm, I guess you and me are going to grow up to be best friends," Clint said, still being as careful as he could. She was really small, though, so even with his four-year-old arms, he was able to support her head on his hands. He knew to be careful. He knew how kids were _supposed _to be treated.

Bruce sat down in a corner, resting against the back of the chair. He looked tired.

"When we get big again, let's go get some ice cream," Clint said. "Bruce is buying."

Bruce smiled softly at Clint. He wasn't so scary when he was tired and when Clint was wearing his really annoying mask. But Clint still liked it when he stayed at a good distance.

"And then maybe we'll go to the movies. You can hold my hand—I guess—if you want. I think that's what best friends do," Clint said. It looked like maybe Natasha was smiling, but she was also really tired. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she snuggled in closer to Clint.

"Umm." Clint wasn't sure what to do. He looked up to ask Bruce for help, but Bruce was also asleep, his head tilted back and his mouth open. He snored, but very softly, not enough to be super annoying.

"Okay," Clint said to Natasha as he shifted his arms, trying to get more comfortable. "I guess you can sleep here if you want. But only for a little nap."

That didn't sound so bad, actually. A short nap. Clint was really tired from hiding from doctors and soldiers in strange uniforms. He closed his eyes . . . .

He heard something at the door.

Bruce's head snapped up, and he was suddenly wide awake, staring intently at the door handle. The something just behind his eyes, the dangerous thing, blinked at Clint, then at the door. "Steve?" Bruce asked mildly.

Then, Clint thought maybe he had fallen asleep and he was actually dreaming, because it seemed like something was coming through the door. Something green and gold and Clint didn't know what it was, but Bruce seemed to, because the dangerous thing inside him started to come out. His clothes ripped. His skin turned green.

Natasha was sleeping soundly, but Clint could hear his heart as loudly as if it was outside of him.

And then the green Bruce monster roared, which woke Natasha. She turned and started to cry, so Clint tried to hold her closer and tried to come up with a good enough lie that she'd believe they were going to be okay, tried to think what Barney said when Dad came around.

"I've got you," he said at last. "I won't let the monsters get you. They can have me instead."

But the green Bruce monster didn't come for them. It looked right at Clint, but then it tackled the green and gold person with horns on his head that had materialized inside the hospital room. The monster dragged that person away, roaring louder than anything Clint had heard before.

Natasha was still crying, but Clint didn't really know what to do. He couldn't run and hide like he would usually do, because he was holding a baby, and he didn't want to take her and run, because the equipment she was hooked up to looked important. He just rocked her up and down, but the green Bruce monster was loud and scary and even Clint didn't have words for everything.

"It's okay," he said, because that felt like something he should say. "It's okay. I promise it's okay." It was a lie, but he felt like maybe it was an okay lie to tell.

He kept repeating his lie over and over again until the thundering green Bruce monster sounded far enough away that even he sort of believed it. Natasha was just starting to quiet down again when someone new stuck his head through the hole-that-used-to-be-a-door.

"You two okay in here?" asked Steve. Clint recognized him from before, but he looked dirtier, like he'd just been thrown through a dust storm. And he had a huge cut under his eye. Maybe he'd been in a fight with the green Bruce monster.

Clint pretended he wasn't crying when he looked up at Steve. He sniffed angrily. "Bruce turned into a monster and attacked somebody that can walk through doors," he said.

Steve just raised his eyebrows. "Uh-huh," he said, shaking his head like he couldn't believe it.

"I'm not lying," Clint said stubbornly.

"No, no, I believe you," Steve said. "I'm just not sure . . . ." He shook his head. "This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder."

"You're telling me."

Steve smiled almost sadly, like he was sorry to have disturbed Clint, then said, "I'll see if I can keep the fighting as far away from you as I can."

And then he was gone.

Natasha had stopped crying, but she looked like she might start up again, so Clint went back to talking to her. "We'll go see _The Great Escape_. I bet you'd like that movie. Lots of people do. My brother Barney snuck into a theater where they were playing it for a drive-in thing, and he said it had lots of action." He looked down at Natasha. "I bet you like action movies. If you didn't, we probably wouldn't be best friends."

Natasha looked up at Clint with big eyes, but when he stopped talking, she looked like she might cry again.

Clint bit his lip, trying to think of other things to talk about. "Bruce says we used to be grown-ups, so maybe there's lots more movies like that we could go see. I don't know what they are, but I'll take you to all of them. We'll get popcorn and candy from the theaters, and we'll stay all the way until the credits are over because the music is sometimes the best part." He looked through the hole in the door but didn't see anyone coming their way.

"I think maybe Bruce and Steve are superheroes," Clint said. "I read lots of comic books. Barney gets 'em for me. And this sure seems like maybe we're living in a comic book. Do you think we're superheroes, too?" Clint looked down at Natasha. "Maybe you are. Maybe you grow up and have superpowers. Maybe I'm your sidekick." Clint smiled. "Yeah, that's probably what happens. I don't have superpowers, but maybe I can help you out sometimes."

Natasha reached up and grabbed Clint's shirt, twisting it in her hands and gurgling something that sounded like gibberish.

"Yeah, you like that idea, huh? Maybe you're Captain Awesome and I'm . . . ." he waved his hand, then looked down at his purple shirt, " . . . The Purple Kid." He grinned. "You take all the bad guys down, and I make sure nobody gets hurt." Clint looked at the door again. Still nobody. "I don't like being right in the middle of the action anyway," he said quietly. "Rather keep my distance."

Natasha smiled.

Clint smiled back. "I wish you could talk. If we're going to be best friends, I should at least know what your favorite color is." He glanced up at the door as he talked, but this time, there was someone there.

It wasn't the green Bruce monster. It was a man with long, black hair and the kind of eyes that Clint had seen too many times right before someone bigger and meaner got their way. He looked like maybe he was wearing armor from a long time ago, but it didn't look like any armor in books that Clint had read. He had a pointy helmet that shimmered into life, and his smile was scarier than the look in his eyes.

"Ah yes," he said in a strange accent, "the displaced agents. True to each other and still clinging to the ideals of a dying regime."

Clint didn't know who this guy was, but he knew he was bad news. So, carefully, he put Natasha down on the bed in front of him and crawled over her, his tiny fists raised. He knew he looked ridiculous, but that was part of his advantage. Being small and underestimated and willing to take a hit so he could bounce back from it and shove that hit right back at 'em.

The man's eyes softened just the slightest bit. "I meant what I said," he whispered. "You have heart."

"Wanna find out how much?" Clint asked. It wasn't much of an insult, but to be fair, it was at least better than shaking in his boots, which was kind of what he wanted to do.

"There's no need," the man said, waving his hand dismissively. "I only came here to collect what's mine." He held his hand out, and that's when Clint felt like he'd caught on fire.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I know. It's been a month. **

**So, story goes like this. A few weeks ago, my husband lost his job. No warning, no severance pay, nothing. I started working super early morning shifts and taking on extra projects (and am still working those shifts), and he started looking for a new job. Two weeks after that, he got an interview with a place in Atlanta and got a great new job. (YAY)**

**But it doesn't start til January, and in the meantime, he's still got to graduate, so I'm over here literally trying to get our house packed up _and _work extra shifts _and _find time to sleep while he's desperately trying to pass a class with a professor who I swear would dock you a full grade for putting a comma where a period should be. **

**So yeah. Life happened. Sorry about that. If you're inclined to pray, I would appreciate any help with the whole keeping my sanity thing for the next two months. **

**This also means fic writing is kinda on the backburner, so I'm very sorry about that. I _am _trying to write as often as possible (though obviously freelance and Real Life projects that can actually bring in some revenue are taking precedent right now) but I swear as soon as the craziness of moving is over and the New Year begins, I will get back to regular updating. I'll need the break and the chance to do something not-stressful. :)**

**Anyway, in the meantime, here's a new chapter! I'm excited about it because little Tony finally makes his debut ;)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or Marvel or any of the related rights.**

Clint wasn't going to pass out, no he wasn't, because that would be like giving up and that wasn't okay. Instead, he was going to get up and see why the green and gold man set Clint on fire.

He heard Natasha whimper, and a seething rage blinded him as he struck out and punched at eye level. Didn't matter if the guy was magic or not—he knew that hurt.

The green and gold guy bent over slightly, but he tried to cover up for it. Clint had seen that look lots of times, usually in the mirror. "Whelp," the green and gold guy said, pushing Clint away and into the cabinets. Clint's mask fell off, but it didn't seem to matter because he didn't feel like coughing anymore.

A container of some kind fell into Clint's lap—which gave him an idea.

Because floating there, in the air where Clint used to be standing, was a huge cloud of dust, and from the way it sort of sparkled and shimmered like it wasn't really there, well, Clint figured it had to be important.

It took him exactly three tries to unscrew the blue lid from the clear cylinder, but Clint got it off eventually. He watched as the green and gold guy waved his hands through the dust and it got somehow sparklier, and Clint figured maybe it was time to jump.

He didn't know what the stuff was, but he knew that it was important to the green and gold guy, so he swung his clear cup through the air and got as much of the dust in there as he could, then took off running down the hall.

"Ignorant fool." Clint heard the shout behind him. "You don't know the powers you are dealing with."

"Yeah, well, no one ever said I was smart!" Clint shouted, because wasn't that the truth. Clint was an idiot. He was dumb. He was a moron. He was lots of other words that Clint didn't understand but Barney said didn't matter even though they sounded like they mattered a lot.

Clint kept the cup with the blue lid jammed on as tightly as he could get it (because the sparkling dust looked dangerous) and ran as fast as he could and as far away from Natasha as he could go because maybe that meant the bad guy wouldn't come back for him.

He almost ran right into Steve . . . or at least, someone who was wearing the colorful outfit thingy that Steve wore. He looked kinda young, like maybe he was in high school.

"Steve!" he gasped.

Steve looked down, surprised. "What are . . . who are . . . what's . . . ?"

Clint heard an unnerving chuckle behind him and spun around to see the green and gold guy leaning casually against a wall like chasing Clint hadn't taken any effort at all. And Clint didn't mean to do it, but Steve was bigger than him and already sort of stepping in front of Clint and putting out a hand to push Clint even more behind him, and Clint figured Steve was a good person to hide behind. Steve might have been younger than Clint remembered him, but he looked really big still, and he looked nice. That hadn't changed just because he got younger.

"Give me the dust now, boy, and you may live to see another day," the green and gold guy said.

And there was something about standing behind Steve that made Clint feel braver, because he shouted, "You have to catch me first!"

And then very suddenly, the green and gold guy was right behind Clint and had a handful of the purple shirt and he probably meant to lift Clint up and shout in his face, because he had that kind of look, but the joke was on him because Clint was actually too little for that shirt anyway and he didn't care that he wasn't wearing anything underneath. He fell out of the shirt and tumbled to the ground, gripping the clear little cup tightly and streaking out of the way. He would have been scareder if he hadn't turned a corner and saw Steve fighting with the green and gold guy out of the corner of his eye.

Clint kept running and hoped that maybe he would find Bruce because even monster Bruce protected him and maybe he would also know how to keep Natasha safe because he was dumb and he left her behind and that was really, really stupid but he wasn't big enough to carry her and the dust at the same time.

He thought he heard something and ran right into the living room and right into a new kid.

Clint didn't know this guy, but he had dark hair and sunglasses and he looked like maybe he was ten or eleven, but he was kind of short and skinny so maybe he was older—it was hard to tell. But he had been standing in front of an open fridge and had half a slice of cold pizza in his mouth, and it dropped out of his mouth when he saw Clint standing in front of him.

Clint remembered that he wasn't wearing anything and frowned. "Who are you?" he demanded, mostly to keep his dignity.

The other guy quickly recovered. "Tony," he said curtly, looking Clint over with the kind of look Clint had seen when other kids that weren't from Clint's neighborhood saw him and Barney looking at the bikes at the store when Dad wasn't home and Mom hadn't noticed them leave.

"Clint," he said. "What are you doing here?"

But Tony sighed and took off his shirt and handed it to Clint. "Please," he said, then waited for Clint to put it on before he added, "What are _you _doing here?"

"Running from a magic guy with a helmet," Clint said. The shirt was still too big for him, but he could run in it if he had to. He started to add that he was hiding magic dust from the magic helmet guy, but he got distracted by the big, glowing, blue circle in the middle of Tony's chest.

Tony looked down at it and sucked air in through his teeth. "Yeah, I don't know what that is, either," Tony admitted. "But I think it's inside me, and I don't like the idea of what might happen if I take it out." He took another bite of pizza, then, suddenly, coughed violently. He looked like he might throw up.

Clint rushed forward. "Are you okay?" he asked. Now that he thought about it, his throat felt kinda dry and scratchy, too. "Try not to cough," he said.

"Yeah, thanks, that's helpful," Tony said angrily.

"No, I mean it. Bruce said—"

"Who's _Bruce_?" Tony asked.

"He's a doctor and also maybe a superhero monster," Clint said. "Try to keep up."

"Right, yeah," Tony said, but he didn't look like he was keeping up.

"Anyway, Bruce said that there is stuff in the air and it's making us younger when we cough, so don't do that," Clint said.

"Making us younger? Stuff in the air?" Tony followed after Clint, who had decided that maybe hanging out in the kitchen was dangerous for too long.

Clint sighed. "I don't know. That's what he said." He looked Tony over, then held up his little jar full of dust. "I stole some of it. I don't know what it is or how it works, but this is the stuff that we breathed in." He threw out his chest and tried to look important. "We used to be grown-ups."

For just a second, Tony looked like he might laugh, and Clint hated that more than most things because he wasn't a circus attraction, he _wasn't_, but then Tony said, "Okay. Let's say I believe you. What's going on with the magic dust, and why us?"

"I don't know!" Clint said, frustrated this time. "There's you and me and Steve and Natasha—"

"There's like a never-ending supply of you, isn't there?" Tony asked, and he looked disappointed.

"Well, then there's also Bruce, and he turns into a giant monster, so maybe he can keep us safe," Clint assured him. He started running now, and Tony kept up with him as they went down the next hallway, probably because Tony looked interested and had a look on his face like maybe he was thinking. "But Steve is only a little older than you, and Natasha is still in the hospital and she's just a baby, so we need to get her out of there but I have this dust stuff and I don't want the bad guy to get it so maybe you can help me?" The more he talked, the faster Clint talked, but when he finished, he gave Tony his best smile.

Tony blinked once, then twice. "Okay," he said slowly. "I'll give you this: this is the most creative kidnaping that's ever happened to me."

"Well?" Clint demanded, because Tony wasn't making sense and people didn't treat getting kidnaped like it was _normal_.

"Yeah, sure, I'll help. Let's go save the day or something," Tony said, but he didn't sound that enthusiastic.

"Great," Clint said. "You go to the hospital and save Natasha. I'll keep the bad guy away from his magic dust."

"Yes sir, captain, sir," Tony said with a mock salute. It felt like maybe he was teasing Clint, but Clint was too busy to care.

"When you get Natasha, find Steve. He's the big kid in the colorful suit. He can keep her safe," Clint said. He didn't add "and I trust Steve," but he made sure Tony knew he meant to say it.

"Kid, there is something seriously not normal about you," Tony said.

Clint grinned. That wasn't news to him.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: More baby Avengers = best relaxing time ever!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or the Avengers or any of the related rights.**

"HULK SMASH!"

Clint could hardly believe his eyes. He stayed hidden, curled up under a shirt with a band name and logo on it that looked like the kind of stuff Barney might like, but he had to concentrate to keep his knees from knocking together when he first heard the crashing and then saw green.

But this? This was a whole new level of weird, even considering what else he'd been through that day.

A tiny green ball of rage crashed through the wall of the room Clint was hiding in. (He felt kinda safe in there, because it sort of felt like Steve lived in there. It looked neat and tidy and had some old soldier photographs pinned to the wall, and some of them looked like Steve, except it was probably Steve's dad or grandpa, because it looked like they were _really _old photographs.) It looked like the green Bruce monster, but much, much smaller.

Probably just a little bit taller than Clint, actually.

The green Bruce monster smashed into the bed, and Clint hurried and crawled out from under it before the whole thing could collapse on him, but now he had to deal with the monster in front of him.

The monster looked at him and rushed for him, shouting the same thing: "HULK SMASH!"

Clint dived out of the way. He was good at that, at least, the hiding and running away thing. Lots of practice. He scampered into the hallway and ran for the next door, but it was locked.

Clint almost panicked, but then the green monster stopped. They both looked at each other from across the hallway, and the green monster looked just as confused as Clint did.

And then the green and gold guy stepped around the corner, waving away the last bits of something glowy on his hand, probably magic. "Sleep," the green and gold guy commanded, and the green monster thing sort of just curled up on its side and closed its eyes. Slowly, but also all at once, the green monster disappeared, and Clint recognized the super curly hair. Bruce was even younger than Clint now!

Great. Who was going to help Clint and the others from getting any younger?

The green and gold guy looked up at Clint and flashed a smile that was way more terrifying than even when he'd picked Clint up by the shirt. "Hello again, little one."

"Stay back," Clint said, because that was pretty much all he had.

"Or what?"

And then the inspiration struck Clint, and he didn't think about it too hard or he wouldn't go through with it. He just raised the little plastic cup over his head like it was a weapon, with one hand on the blue cap. "Or I'll dump this stuff on you, and then you'll be little like the rest of us!"

The green and gold guy stopped. It was just a second's pause, but it was enough to tell Clint that he'd at least scared the guy. "You would not dare. If you inhale much more, you will regress into nothingness."

Clint paused for just a second to prepare a good enough comeback, and then he remembered the one that always worked. "Yeah, but nobody'll miss me," he said. He'd used that one before to get out of trouble, and sometimes the really nice people even gave him a sad kind of hug and offered him ice cream or something and an "oh you poor thing" to boot.

And it definitely worked on the green and gold guy. He paused for a long time, stepping over the sleeping Bruce and slowly inching his way towards Clint, but really carefully, slow enough that Clint could run away if he had to.

"Give me that dust," he said.

"You had a lot of it," Clint pointed out. "Before, I mean. I only took some."

"I used much of my remaining stock on this beast," he said, gesturing down to Bruce. "His transformation was not an easy task."

"Then why do you need this?"

"I intend to finish what I started."

Clint's mind raced. He knew that grownups liked to talk, and bullies especially liked to talk if it meant they were going to get what they wanted, but Clint was smart, even if he was stupid, and he knew better than to stand still while grownups talked. Sometimes they were tricky and distracted you by talking and then before you knew it they were too close.

Clint stumbled back a few steps. "I'll give it to you if you give me something," he said. That was good.

The green and gold man stopped. "You do not get to make _demands_," he hissed through his teeth. He appeared very suddenly behind Clint, but Clint knew about that trick and dropped to the ground so he couldn't get grabbed, then ran away again. He could hear the green and gold guy chasing him, but he had a plan, and as soon as he round the corner, he dropped into a crouch.

The green and gold guy didn't see Clint until after he'd stumbled over Clint, and even though _wow did that hurt_, it meant Clint could jump on his back and sit on him, holding the container right over his face, with one hand on the lid. "You have to make Natasha bigger," he said.

The green and gold guy laughed, but Clint didn't see what was so funny. "A bargain for the girl?" He laughed again, but Clint still didn't get the joke. "I see. Love is indeed for children." Still smiling, he said, "Yes, of course, I shall return her to you."

"You'll make her bigger?" Clint asked.

"She shall at least be able to walk again, so you need not concern yourself with carrying her. That was the purpose of your bargain, was it not?"

Clint frowned and didn't like that the green and gold guy seemed like he could read his mind. But he nodded.

The green and gold guy held out his hand, but Clint shook his head. "Natasha first," he said stubbornly.

The green and gold guy sighed. "Do not fret. I will keep my end of the bargain." He waved his hand lazily, and a tiny vial appeared, all blue and glowy and definitely magic. "It would be simpler for me _not _to have to carry any of you children myself, after all."

Clint narrowed his eyes.

"You can trust me," the green and gold guy said.

At that, Clint laughed out loud.

The guy smiled softly, almost like he hadn't meant to smile. "Yes, I know. It is difficult to believe, but I do keep my word." The smile deepened, and this time it looked like he was smiling on purpose, because his on-purpose smiles were much, much scarier. "As long as it suits me."

Clint clutched the container full of dust closer to his chest, like he could protect it with just his tiny hands alone. But finally, he figured he might as well take a chance, because that Tony guy sure wasn't going to be any help with Natasha, and Steve probably needed to handle Bruce and really Clint just wanted to be done running because he was tired and he was hungry and this had been a long day, so he put the dust in the green and gold guy's hands and climbed off of his back.

"Good boy," the green and gold guy said, like Clint was a dog and not a kid.

Clint narrowed his eyes. "Now you have to do like you promised," he said.

"Of course." And then there was a flash of light, and by the time Clint could see again, the green and gold guy was gone.

Clint sighed. "That was really stupid, Clint," he muttered to himself, because nobody else was around to say it, and it definitely needed saying.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or any Marvel-related rights. Sadly.**

...

Clint hadn't meant to fall asleep while he was hiding, but he was really very tired, and the carpet in the living room was really, really soft.

He'd gotten lost trying to find the hospital again, and then Bruce had chased him around while he was green and a monster, and even though that monster was smaller, he could still break through walls so Clint didn't really want to know what happened if he got hit with one of those big green fists. And so Clint hid from Bruce, and he had meant to come out of hiding and go back to looking for Tony and Steve and Natasha, but he fell asleep.

Clint jerked awake and rubbed his eyes. How long had he been asleep? What was going on? He looked down, and yep, he was still little, still wearing a black tee shirt, but at least he wasn't any smaller.

And then he heard the noise, the reason he was awake. Someone was yelling really loudly, and it didn't sound like English.

Clint peered out from behind the couch but didn't see anybody in the living room, so he headed for the door. "Hello?" he called out timidly, because usually yelling people didn't want to be disturbed.

There was Tony, only he was much smaller now. Maybe just a year older than Clint. And he was standing with his hands crossed over his blue, glowing chest, trying to look important and not scared, while a redheaded little girl screamed at him and kept trying to hit him. Had to be Natasha.

Steve was there, too, and he looked a lot younger than before, but still maybe at least eight, which meant he was big enough to get in between Natasha and Steve. He looked tired and annoyed. "Stop fighting. I mean it!" he said, but Clint knew when kids were trying to sound like grownups.

"Natasha!" Clint shouted, and both Tony and Steve turned around to look at Clint, who crossed his arms over his chest. "You guys found Natasha."

Natasha looked at Clint with wide eyes, but she didn't say anything.

"You know this kid?" Tony asked. He sounded pouty and whiny. Which sorta made sense, cuz he was whiny and annoying and bossy when he was older, too.

"Yeah. Hi, Nat," Clint said, and Natasha seemed to at least respond to that. Her eyes lit up, and she sort of wobbled her way over to Clint.

So the green and gold guy had kept his promise after all. She didn't look much older, but she could walk and apparently talk, but not English. Maybe she was from Canada. That was a different country, right?

Steve sighed heavily and leaned against the back wall. They were in somebody's bedroom. It had lots of decorations sort of like the armor the green and gold guy wore, but more reds and blues and stuff. The bed was really, really big, so the other kids had sort of clustered by the closet. Steve crossed his arms and looked at the other kids. "Thanks," he said to Clint when Natasha stopped screaming and plopped herself down beside Clint.

Clint sat down beside his friend and held out his hand. She didn't look like she wanted to take it, but he kept it there just in case she warmed up to the idea. He didn't really have any other ideas.

"So," Tony said as he tried (and failed) to pull himself up onto the ginormous bed so he could sit higher than everyone else (Steve boosted him up so he could sit down, probably because he looked so ridiculous trying). "Who are you people?"

"Steve," Steve said, waving his fingers shyly.

"I'm Clint. This is Natasha," Clint said, and Natasha looked up at him with a scrunched up nose like he'd said something funny. "Or Nat, I guess," he amended, and Natasha looked pleased.

"Tony," Tony said from his throne.

"Yeah, I know," Clint said without meaning to.

Steve leaned forward, both eyebrows raised. "You know? How?"

"I met you guys," Clint said quickly. "When you were grown up."

Tony laughed. "That doesn't make sense. I'd know if my dad had made something that could—"

"Shut up, Tony. Not everything is about you," Clint said.

The look on Tony's face made Natasha giggle.

"There's a guy in this tower. He's green and gold and has a weird pointy helmet, and he has this magic dust—"

"There's no such thing as magic," Tony cut in.

"Shut up, Tony." This time, Steve said it.

"And if you breathe in the dust, you get smaller and younger." Clint hadn't noticed that Natasha had, in fact, decided to hold his hand until he went to move his hand and hers was in it. So he just motioned to her with his other hand and said, "She's a superhero, and I'm her sidekick. When we're grown up, of course."

Tony made a face like he was going to say something sarcastic, but Steve did something with his eyes that made Tony shut up really fast. Steve smiled like nothing had happened and turned back to Clint. "What about us?"

Clint grinned. "You're definitely a superhero, Steve," he said. "You and Bruce, who I guess you haven't met yet because he's kind of a raging monster right now."

"Betcha I'm the supervillain," Tony said. Clint thought maybe he was serious, too.

"Can you be not a supervillain until we go back to being grownups?" Steve asked. He looked like he was laughing, so maybe Steve didn't believe Tony was evil.

"Maybe," Tony said, narrowing his eyes. "He has to stop telling me to shut up, though," he added, jabbing his finger at Clint.

"I can say meaner things, if you want," Clint said.

"Don't start," Steve said.

Clint frowned, but if he was going to say something, he got distracted because of the loud crash outside and a shouted, "Stop it, you imbecile!" followed closely by a very loud, "HULK SMASH!"

Tony jumped down off of the bed in surprise. "What's going on?"

Clint grinned. "That's Bruce, I bet. He can turn into a monster. It's kinda scary, but mostly he helps. When he's a grownup, he can get the monster to fight bad guys. He saved me and Nat from the green and gold scary guy before."

"Yeah, but if he's a little kid like us now . . . ." Steve shook his head. "Do you think we can trust him?"

There was more crashing, and it sounded like it was coming closer. Natasha jumped and babbled a few words that didn't sound English.

Clint held her hand tighter, because sometimes Barney did that when Clint was scared of lightning storms and stuff, and she looked up at him and smiled and babbled more nonsense at him.

"She likes you," Steve noted.

"We're best friends," Clint said. "Right, Nat?"

Nat giggled.

"See? Best friends."

Tony just laughed. "Well," he said, "I'm going to look for a kitchen. And I'm taking Steve with me in case the monster or the magic guy shows up." But then Tony waved his hands around in the air and made "ooh"ing noises, so Clint didn't think Tony was taking this seriously.

"When you meet him, you'll be sorry," Clint shouted at Tony as he ran out the door.

Steve shot Clint an apologetic glance and said, "I'll look out for him, okay?" before he ran after Tony.

That only sorta made Clint feel better.

Natasha started to toddle after Tony and Steve, but Clint dragged her back into the room. He wanted to wait and see if Tony and Steve came back with snacks, because as much as he hated to admit it, Tony was right, and he was hungry.

Natasha babbled more Canadian at him, but Clint didn't understand her, so she grabbed his shirt and pointed out the door.

"No," he said. "Let's wait for Steve and Tony."

Natasha's lower lip quivered.

Clint sighed. "Fine." He was a pushover, wasn't he? Barney was always telling him that he needed to grow a spine, and he could when it was someone mean, but Clint couldn't deal with big, sad eyes.

Natasha squealed with delight when Clint stood up and then practically dragged him out the door behind him.

"HULK SMASH!"

"Aw, crap," Clint said.

They'd walked right into it. They had stepped outside just in time to see the green and gold guy fall over and then, seconds later, watched as the green Bruce monster jumped on top of him.

Natasha took in the scene and turned to Clint, her eyes wide.

Clint honestly didn't know if he'd have been able to get through this whole thing without Natasha. It was nice knowing someone needed him, and that at least was a good enough reason to pretend he was brave, even if it was just until they could find someone more grownup to help them.

Clint gritted his teeth. Well, Natasha was too little to be the superhero this time, so maybe he'd be the hero and she could be his sidekick—just this once.

"Stay here," he said, letting go of Natasha's hand and motioning for her to stay put. He crept over to where the green and gold guy was still struggling to keep the green Bruce monster away from his face and other sensitive places.

He was pretty good at this. The not being seen thing. He knew lots of kids played hide and seek because it was fun, but he and Barney were good at it because it kept them safe, even though Clint kept being stupid and getting into fights with Dad anyway. So he was much, much better at hide and seek than any other kid on the planet, he was pretty sure, and he didn't think the green and gold guy saw him as he carefully tiptoed around to the other side of the fight.

He was looking for a blue vial, the one he'd seen the green and gold guy pull out before, when he promised to help Natasha. Clint was pretty good at stealing things. Not as good as Barney, but one day, he promised himself, he'd be better than anybody. Except maybe if he was a superhero he shouldn't steal. But that wasn't important.

He took a deep breath and waited until the green and gold guy was sitting up to dive in behind him and try to feel the linings of his jacket.

Clint saw the backhand coming but wasn't fast enough to duck—and wasn't that the story of his life—so he went flying backwards.

That's when he heard Natasha screaming in Canadian, and a little ball of red and black fury pounced on the green and gold guy.

With Natasha and the green Bruce monster to deal with, the green and gold guy was distracted, so Clint thought he'd give it one more try to get the blue vial.

He took a step forward—and hit an invisible wall. He rubbed his nose, frustrated and confused, before he heard a soft, feminine, but scary voice say in an almost whisper, "How far you have fallen, Loki, to be bested by these Midgardians once more—and in such pitiably small and fragile states!"

As the new person spoke, Clint looked up. The new lady was very pretty, but in the kind of way that was mean and spiteful, like she knew she was pretty and used it on everybody. She looked down at him and smiled at him—a smile that made him think of a snake—before she knelt down beside him and held out her arms like she wanted to pick him up.

Clint ran and hid behind the door to the red and yellow bedroom with the really tall bed.

"In this form, they are slightly more difficult to manage," the green and gold guy said, "but much less dangerous. An annoyance, perhaps, but nothing like a threat." He managed to detach a biting Natasha from his arm, and she skidded across the ground. Clint broke cover to run out and grab her and drag her back behind his door, but then the green and gold guy threw the green Bruce monster off, too, and Clint was in the way of Bruce and the wall.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or any of the related rights or anything Marvel or Disney. Although I do own a Disney princess coloring book.**

"Clint?"

Clint groaned. His whole head hurt, and he felt like someone had run him over with a truck. And it was nice and warm and dark, like cuddling up in a blanket, when he was passed out, so he wanted to go back to sleep, thanks.

"Clint!" That was a new voice, more urgent-sounding. Clint thought maybe he recognized it.

And then an earsplitting: "KINT!"

Clint sat right up, his ears still ringing from the high-pitched scream. He looked over to see Natasha sitting with a smug smile on her face, her arms crossed proudly as Steve and Tony and even littler-and-not-green Bruce looked on in surprise (Bruce still had half a cookie in his mouth).

He looked around. They were still in the tower, but in the living room. It looked like they were surrounded by a glowing green fence, like a playpen but more magic and sparkling. But there were cookies and milk and sandwiches and even some toys to play with—though Clint wasn't sure about all that, because he was pretty sure the people who had turned them into kids were not to be trusted. No matter how yummy the cookies looked.

Clint groaned and rubbed the back of his head absently. It still hurt, but he'd had worse. Probably. Maybe. "What happened?"

"Loki threw me at you," said Bruce, and he sounded embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"Who's Loki?" Clint asked. It was hard to get his mouth to form words, but he could do it if he concentrated hard enough.

"He's the green and gold guy," Steve said.

"Who, as it turns out, actually has magic!" Tony said like no one had told him that in the first place. "Weird, right?"

"Yeah. Imagine that," Clint deadpanned, then looked over at Natasha, who had taken two cookies from the plate in the middle of their playpen and made her way over to him to give him the second one.

"Kint?" she offered, her eyes wide.

He took the cookie and ruffled her hair. "Thanks, Nat," he said. She kept staring at him, though, so Clint took a bite of the cookie, and Natasha giggled delightedly.

"She likes you," Tony said, watching Natasha with guarded interest.

"Well, I grow up to be her sidekick, so I figure we've got to start somewhere with our friendship," Clint shrugged, grinning as Natasha settled down to sit beside him, nestling right up next to him with wide eyes and a snaggle-toothed grin.

"You seem to know an awful lot about our futures," Bruce said. He had this quiet way of speaking, like he was careful about the words he chose to say out loud, and Clint wondered why he was so well-behaved when anyone else should have been way upset.

"Well, I didn't know it until you guys told me," Clint pointed out. "Bruce, you used to be a doctor. And Tony, you had a robot! And Steve, you . . . ." Clint paused, unsure what Steve's superpower was. "I don't know what you can do, but you fight really good."

Steve raised both eyebrows and muttered something that sounded like "yeah right," but he didn't argue.

"You guys told me so," Clint said, almost pouting, crossing his arms over his chest. "Back when you were grown ups and Loki hadn't gotten to you."

"Okay, okay, it's not that we don't believe you," Steve said, even though that's _clearly _what they were thinking. "It's just that this is all really hard to . . . ." Steve waved his hand, at a loss for the right words.

"Yeah," Tony agreed, nodding wholeheartedly. He crossed their glow-y playpen to examine some of the toys and then sighed in annoyance. "Don't even have anything cool. Just some blocks and coloring books."

Natasha followed Tony to the toys and looked through the coloring books until she found one she liked. She came back with a fistful of reds and purples and blues and settled down with her Disney princess coloring book. She held the purple crayon out for Clint. "Kint?" she offered.

He grinned and took the purple crayon. "Thanks, Nat," he said.

She beamed at him.

"I'm gonna get a sugar headache just watching you two," Tony said, making a disgusted face.

"She's my best friend!" Clint said.

"Yeah, but she's a _girl_," Tony pointed out.

"She _does _have cooties," Bruce said, and he sorta sounded like the grownup doctor version of himself, like he was telling Clint he had the flu or something.

Clint crossed his arms over his chest and stared at his friends. "Nat's special. She's too Canadian to have cooties."

"Oh, is that where she's from?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," Clint said. He wasn't sure, but he figured it couldn't hurt to sound sure.

Tony didn't look like he believed Clint, but before he could say anything, he looked up and saw something and dived for cover behind Steve. Bruce also hid behind Steve.

Clint looked up. There was a really tall lady, with blonde hair, looking down at him. He recognized her as the lady he had seen before with Loki, and he knew she was trouble when she reached down to grab him under his arms to pick him up.

Natasha threw her blue crayon at the lady, but it didn't help Clint. Natasha screamed and threw more things, but that also didn't help.

He was lifted out of the playpen and into her arms. She balanced him on her hip as she carried him through the tower, and Clint thought about trying to run away, but there was a really big guy behind her with what looked like a big axe, so Clint thought maybe he should just be quiet and watch. Listen. See what he could learn.

He could also turn on the cute. That sometimes got grownups to give him what he wanted. He turned to the blonde lady and made his eyes bigger. "You're pretty," he said. That was true, after all. She was very pretty, but it was a scary kind of pretty. He didn't tell her that part, though.

Her lips curled up into the slightest smile, and she bounced him on her hip. "I can see why they call you Hawkeye," she said with a small laugh.

"Is that my superhero name?" he asked, and this time, his smile was real. That was a _cool _name, and he liked it, and he was going to definitely use it.

She laughed. "You're no hero, child," she said.

Clint tried not to frown. He bounced back quickly, plastering the smile back. "Yeah, I know. I'm a sidekick. Nat's the real hero."

The lady laughed again. "Of course. She is the superior fighter. But I'm afraid you're much mistaken about your roles here. She is the superior assassin, yes, but as I understand it, you are almost as skilled in the art of killing."

Clint could feel his heart dropping into his chest. He remembered Tony saying that he was probably a supervillain, and Clint wondered if maybe they worked together.

_No_. No, that couldn't be true. Because of Steve. "Steve's not a bad guy. And he's my friend," Clint said.

She laughed again, and it was a mean kind of laugh. "Steve Rogers is a friend to all. You are no different from any stranger he may happen across."

"You're a liar."

"Is that so?" her eyes flashed dangerously, but also playfully, like she was toying with him.

Clint crossed his arms across his chest. "Where are we going?" he asked at last, unable to stand much more talk about the hero he wasn't.

"Your friends require . . . proof."

Clint didn't like the smile on the lady's face. He figured he should probably run now.

He bit down hard on her hand, so hard that she dropped him, and then ran for the nearest small space, something he could slip through that the big guy with the axe might trip over.

There was a hallway to his left, and he took it. There was a big, glass table, and lots of beer and other alcohol, like a bar inside the tower. Clint knew what bars looked like, but this one looked really fancy.

He ducked underneath the table first, crawling on his hands and knees. The big guy with the axe didn't even blink, though. He just picked up the table and threw it into the wall, where it shattered.

Clint could feel tears in his eyes, but _no_, he was _not _scared because that was dumb. He was just tired and needed a nap and that's why he was crying.

He'd seen this work in movies. He figured he could get his hands on a bottle that was big enough to smash over the axe guy's head. That should knock him out, right?

He sprinted for the bar, and he felt the air rush by him as he narrowly avoided big, grubby hands. He ducked behind the serving area and grabbed the biggest bottle he could find—and also lift—and heaved himself up on top of the bar.

He hit the first thing he saw.

The bottle shattered.


End file.
